


I Created Suffering

by procrastibator



Series: Life in The Cage [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Beast Mode Sex, Bottom Sam, Dark Comedy, Dubious Consent, Forced, Humiliation, Inappropriate Humor, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Lucifer, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastibator/pseuds/procrastibator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer finds himself trapped in The Cage again, but this time he has Sam, Dean, Adam, and Michael to keep him company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfiction and I hope you enjoy it enough to encourage me to write more. I would like to turn this into a series where each chapter represents a different slice of time in The Cage. I've used tags in advance of what I plan to write and I welcome any and all kinks and prompts. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update but will try to do so at least once a week.

My Father created the heavens and the Earth, and it was good. But then… he made humans, and it was not good at all.

I have also created many things. For example, I was the first being to ‘rebel’; the first to question The Word. I was also the first to experience ‘shame’ and ‘betrayal’, when my eldest brother Michael, at the behest of my father, ejected me from Heaven and locked me in The Cage.

After The Fall… I created something humans call ‘suffering’. No one, in the singularity of consciousness had ‘suffered’ until I, the once favored son of Our Father, was ripped away from my family to exist in a vast, frigid wasteland with no one to comfort me for all of eternity.

For hundreds of years I wept and screamed into the darkness for my father’s forgiveness. There is no echo in The Cage. My ‘begging’ (something else I invented), went no further than my own ears.

For thousands more I wandered my prison trying to find an end to the dark. Nothingness surrounded me in every direction for as far as I could travel. No matter where I stood, it was no different than where I had been or where I could go. Nothing. Anywhere. Forever.

That was the first Fall. The second is worse. This time, I know how long it will take me to get out again.

‘Time’ does not exist. It’s a unit of measure created by humans to quantify their existence. They are born, they live, and they die. They are pathetic and finite. _I_ am neither. And yet… I understand why something as trivial as time is essential. It implies a beginning and an end. But here, in this abysmal cage of frigid suffering where I was cursed by father to live out my infinite existence… only _I_ know what forever truly means. Not Sam—the insufferable little ingrate. Not Dean—the stubborn, self-righteous, and hypocritical daddy’s boy. Not Michael—my coward of an older brother who would rather murder than protect me from our father’s wrath. And certainly not the littlest Winchester, Adam—a dumb kid with no destiny and rotten luck. Oh, but now that we’re all in the cage together, they’re going to learn what ‘suffering’, and ‘forever’ _truly_ mean.

I am the creator of ‘vengeance’. And I’ve learned a few tricks after time immemorial in The Cage.

It takes me a few hundred years to find Sammy, but it’s worth the wait (Side note: I invented patience. I don’t get a lot of credit for it, but I did. My father threw me in a cage over nothing, not very patient at all. I waited eons for my revenge. _Eons!_ And these fuckers stole it from me. _)._ “Dean?” he sobs hysterically, “Please. Please, God! Dean! Dean, where are you?” There is nothing for several minutes and then, “I’m scared,” he whispers. I can’t see him, but I can hear him and it’s more solace than I’ve ever had in The Cage. It makes me sort of… content. I can start torturing him whenever I choose. For now, I am enjoying his gradual descent into madness. I follow Sam’s voice for a hundred years, listening to him pray, scream, beg, and cry. He’s thirsty. He’s hungry. He’s cold (the cage is colder than space). He’s lonely and terrified. He pleads for a death that will _never_ come. And then one day….

“Lucifer?” he squeaks, and _that_ is unexpected. “Can you hear me?”

_Yes, stupid, I hear you._

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but you’re the only….”

I almost burst with tightly contained laughter. _Are you really going to pray to me, Sammy?_

”Please… bring me to Dean. Find me!”

_Way ahead of you, talking monkey._

“Punish me all you want. Peel the flesh from my bones, but please…let me have my brother.”

_Oh, Sammy, you’re breaking my heart. Hah!_

“I’ll do anything,” he sobs. “I’ll give you my soul! I’ll help you get out. Just....” He screams an anguished sound into the darkness.

“Do you mean that?” I ask casually. My laughter is a carefully cultivated and sinister sound. It’s also ‘sexy as hell’ (How do you think I tempted Eve?). I take tremendous pleasure in listening to Sam Winchester gasp. One inhaled breath is all it takes to know how horrified and desperately pleased he is to have his prayers answered by the likes of me.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice is small and terrified. I have plans to pull his tongue out of his mouth with my teeth. What sounds will he make then? I have thousands of names and millions of forms, but my favorites are these: Lucifer, the horned beast with the face and body of a man, but the legs and cloven feet of a goat. It’s the form I take just before I envelope Sam from behind and whisper in his ear.

“I’m here, Sammy.” It’s… not how I imagined it. He doesn’t fight me. Sam huddles close to me in stark relief, rubbing his cheek along my face, and stroking my pelted thighs. He’s naked and so cold to the touch I’m mildly surprised he doesn’t shatter in my arms.

“Thank God,” Sam sobs. His thoughts are loud in my head. He believed he’d never see another living thing again. He’s overwhelmed by my presence, elated and starved for any touch he can get. His soul burns bright inside him, illuminating the darkness just enough for me to see. I find it very interesting and immediately make plans to harness the power of Sam’s soul. The soul that clamors for its other half. _Dean!_ He doesn’t fear the torture—the idiot actually thinks he’ll be able to endure it—he fears the emptiness. He has no one to fight for, no purpose, and all he has left is the hole in his soul where his brother should be.

Have you ever heard the expression, ‘as randy as a goat’? Well… goats have earned it. My goat dick slides between Sam’s cold thighs. “God has nothing to do with it, Sammy. There is no god but me from now on.” The brave, stupid little monkey widens his stance and rocks back. _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean._ His brother’s name plays on a loop in Sam’s mind. If this is all it takes to break my chosen vessel it’s no wonder I failed to take the Earth. Still, I have my ways. “Tell me I’m your god, Sam. Promise me your soul and I’ll take you to Dean.”

The change is instant. Sam stops shaking and takes several hiccupped breaths to halt his crying. He doesn’t pull away from my horrific body. He doesn’t want to surrender his soul, knows it’s a bad decision, but for Dean… “Do you know where he is?” He nuzzles under my chin like a whore and I think if I were capable of caring for anyone, I would care for Sam Winchester. He doesn’t get near enough credit for his cunning, not when he’s lived in his elder brother’s shadow all his life.

I chuckle darkly and rub my claw tipped hands across Sam’s broad and muscled chest. I tease his nipples with sharp edges and take sinister delight in Sam’s increased heartrate. My vessel. Perfect in every way. I want to be inside him again. I want to ride his skin and seep into his every cell. “I will never lie to you, Sam. You know that, don’t you?” Sam subdues a sob with a manufactured lascivious moan and a roll of his hips. He nods. “That’s right, Sammy, I don’t lie. If I say I’ll find your brother in exchange for your soul, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” Sam starts crying again, crying and attempting to distract me by riding my cock. I’ll admit it, the softness of his balls dragging back and forth over my dick is closer to Heaven than I’ve been in a long time, and never have I felt something so sweet in The Cage. Sam is playing dirty. I can play too.

“I bet he misses you, Sam,” I croon into the boy’s ear. I can call him a boy; I’m old enough. “I bet you’re all he can think about. Where’s Sammy? Where’s the baby brother he loves so much he threw himself into this wasteland? Are you really going to let him suffer eternity without you? Do you honestly think I’ll let you be with him without something in it for me?”

Sam wails in despair and his soul… it glows. I can almost feel the heat of it against my cold skin. I shiver involuntarily. I want more of that. I don’t have a soul of my own, and although I’ve taken great pleasure over the millennia in twisting the souls of others, Sam’s soul is distinct. Sam’s soul is full of love—true, unswayable, self-sacrificing, and hell-enduring love. I can do a lot with a soul like that and somewhere in The Cage is Sam’s soulmate. It comes as no surprise when Sam finally responds, “He’s better off without me.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Sam. Your brother isn’t like you, he doesn’t know how to be without his family—without _you._ And if Michael has him I’m sure he’s being tortured. My big brother threw me in this hole to rot, _me._ What do you think he would do to your brother for thwarting his plans?” Sam’s mind bombards me with images of Dean’s bloody face as I pummeled it on the field.

Dean, face smashed and bloody, hanging on to the very end to comfort Sam. _“Sammy… it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not gonna leave you.”_

“You,” Sam tightens his fingers in my fur, “are my god.” He exhales slowly. He sniffles and tilts his head back to rub his nose under my chin. It’s not his soul, not yet. But I ram my generously modified cock up his ass with no preamble.

“Yes!” I shout over Sam’s screams. He thrashes in my arms and his mind is devoid of any thoughts that don’t center on his stretched out asshole. “And your god is very, _very_ upset with you.”

I fuck him with every ounce of my strength, knowing I can’t kill him no matter how many ribs I crack, or organs I rearrange as I will my cock to grow and stretch inside him. He can’t scream after a short while; I’ve punctured the poor boy’s lungs, but I can hear his thoughts. His suffering is… well, in a few hundred thousand years it might come close to all I’ve endured, but for now, it’s beautiful. Sam is begging to die. He’s holding out hope that when I’m finished he’ll be dead and his anguish will come to an end.

“Oh, Sam,” I whisper into his ear. “I’ll never let you die.” I close my eyes in pleasure as his hole clenches around me. I didn’t know he had any muscle control remaining, but that’s the Winchester’s—full of surprises. “Fuck, yeah, you little bitch, make it tight for me. Grip my dick and make me come in your ruined insides.” He obeys immediately.

_Dean!_

Sam is a self-sacrificing moron with grand delusions. He thinks he can keep me busy forever, distract me from finding Dean. As if I’d let that tasty little piece roam free. “You’re such a good boy, Sam. I don’t know why they label you as the bad one. Unlike your big brother, you said yes to me like you were supposed to. You’re _still_ saying yes, aren’t you?” He bears down on my cock again and it’s so damn sweet I decide to slow down and savor the sensation of Sam’s complete submission.

“No!” Sam shrieks like a soon-to-be ex-virgin on prom night. He can feel me so much better now, catalogue every inch as I saw in and out of him. It must hurt like hell (please excuse the cliché, the words used to hold more meaning before the beginning of the 21st century). “Ugh,” he sobs as I slide partway out. “Ughhhhhhh,” he whines as I shove back in. Funniest. Thing. Ever. And I’ve seen a T-Rex on its back.

I end up taking it easy on the kid. It is, after all, the first day of his eternity of suffering. Trust me, there’s a curve. I fuck poor Sammy long after I lose the ability to revive him. Humans are so disgustingly fragile. I cum buckets inside him, literally, Sam’s belly is distended from how much cum I put into him, and then I shove him off my cock and wait for my liquefied Grace to heal him from the inside. It doesn’t take long; I’m the second most powerful being in the universe.

“Dean?” He croaks as I pull him into my lap. He shivers in my arms and huddles close.

“No, Sammy. Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.” My cock fills again because I command it.

I spend the next two hundred years rearranging my boy’s insides before we finally… _finally_ , hear Dean’s voice filling the endless void of our prison. “Sam! Sammy! Sam!”

Having endured Hell (for a measly forty years), I hope Dean puts up more of a fight than his baby brother.

TBC…


	2. The First Cut is the Deepest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sheryl Crow song. Half of this has been sitting on my laptop forever and I finally added more to it today. It's rushed and unedited but at least it's out. I had to hide from my kids all day! Hope you like it.

Sam can’t hear his brother.

“Sam. Sammy. Sam!” Dean is a broken record.

Sound doesn’t travel well in The Cage, have to be very up close and personal for sound to have something to bounce from, or you know—be a freakin’ Arch Angel. The only reason Sam ever thought he could hear me is because I spoke into his mind, same as I read his thoughts. Too bad Sam has neither ability. I spoiled my boy for years, responding to all his insipid questions. _Why won’t you kill me?_ Because I enjoy your screams. _Where’s Dean?_ Somewhere around here. _What are you gonna do to me now?_ Whatever I want. After the third or fourth thousandth round, I just stopped answering. I cut off Sam’s ears for good measure as well.

Dean’s thoughts are loud and on repeat. “Sam! Sammy!” He’s actually shouting the words. They lack the incongruousness of dreamscape and random thoughts. In the mortal world his throat would have long since closed shut.

Meanwhile, Sam’s mind is getting closer and closer to soup. He still practices speech, attempts to remember language and words despite being deaf, blind, and at my complete mercy. The words he remembers easiest are yes, stop, please, no, thank you, and Dean. I’ve come to believe the word Dean will never leave him, even if the ability to form the word does. We’ll wait and see.

But I’d like to focus on Dean for a moment. Dean, Dean, _Dean!_ I gotta tell you…he surprised me. I mean—who would have thought I, the favored son and arch nemesis of God Almighty, would someday be bested by…Dean Winchester, high school drop-out and functional alcoholic? I was there even before you were talking apes, back when you first pulled yourselves from the ooze as muddy guppies with nubs for feet, and let me tell you—I’d have never seen it coming. He showed up in his black, shiny car, and stole my date to the prom, my Sammy.

That really hurt. After all the work I put into Sam, into making sure he was conceived, and watched over, groomed and poised to join me in my glorious ascension. Sam betrayed me for Dean. I would have given him anything his angsty little heart desired.

 _Et tu, Sammy?_ I reach down and stroke his head, soft, the way he likes it.

Sam hasn’t experienced torture for the last, let’s call it an hour or so, while I’ve been listening to Dean and scrolling down my list of impressive openers. He’s twitchy, keeps waiting for my punishment and coming up with delicious tortures of his own. He hopes I’ll stick to the classics: rape, blunt force trauma, maybe some combination of the two. He’s ready to shit himself at the thought of having more body parts removed but he’s resigned to losing everything except his tongue, or his cock, please no, please leave his cock alone. I can’t help but chuckle when I feel him hunch low against my hoof, stroking his face against it in an inexplicable self-soothing gesture. Sam never tries to run away. He craves my attention. Once–I decided to give him the day off and all he did was claw at his face and beg me to punish him for whatever he’d done. See? Needy. Torturing him is a mercy. Because there is _nothing_ Sam fears more than the Nothing. That day, as I made him eat two of his fingers, I thought I saw his soul flicker. It was promising until I couldn’t duplicate the results, no matter how many appendages I made him eat. I think he even liked it after a while, like I was feeding him treats.

It’s vexing. But torture as long, and as creatively, and as _regularly_ as I can, I haven’t been able to get the boy’s flux capacitor to work again. I haven’t been able to… _activate_ , Sam’s soul.

So it’s fucking imperative that I learn from this first moment with Dean.

I reach down again, further because Sam is really cowering, and run my claw-tipped fingers through Sammy’s long hair and cradle his head for several seconds. His mewling, pleading whimpers are a guilty pleasure I indulge in frequently. If his soul would simply glow for me, I could see him, the real him, on his knees with his mouth dropped open and waiting, salivating for my cock. He was never such a good boy topside. Sometimes I can’t help myself and I project myself into Sam’s mind, reconstruct the world he knew and the headstrong hunter he was, and I leisurely stuff his throat full of my dick while he stares up at me defiantly. Can never stay in Sam’s mind too long though; there is always the chance I’ll neglect to come back to my own. I have plans for getting loose again and nothing will dissuade me, not even the tears in Sam Winchester’s puppy dog eyes when I tell him I’m not going to come for a while.

He’s surprised by the gentle probing of my tongue into his wet, open mouth. He makes a choked sound and shivers, but keeps his mouth open. I slide the tip of my tongue along his, coaxing him to relax and come out to play. He sobs into my mouth; thinks I’m going to bite off his tongue again—and shyly pushes his tongue past his lips. Sam Winchester is the perfect fucking bitch for me, all mine, just mine—no matter what his big brother might think.

Sam’s hands tremble their way onto my shoulders when he feels me pulling away and sucking his tongue deep into my mouth until our teeth clack together. He swallows hard and his tongue jerks in my mouth. I suck it harshly, pulling back until we separate with a slimy pop. Sam is panting into my mouth and grinding his stiff cock into my stomach. I can’t tell you when he maneuvered his legs around my waist.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, Sammy?” I whisper onto his lips. He can’t hear me but he nods anyway and licks his way back into my mouth.  When he pulls away, he begs sweetly in his fragmented voice.

“P-p-p,” he begins. “Pleee-ase.”

I slice the tip of my tongue with my teeth and feed it to him. He latches on like a baby to a wet tit and rushes head first into abandon. I haven’t let him have this in a while. My grace is Sam’s new drug of choice, he drools for my cum and spit, but my blood? Sam will do the most delicious things for a drop of my blood. He starts coming almost immediately, fucking into my belly and dragging his gooey cock and balls across the mess of my flesh. His erection doesn’t wilt. My bitch is ravenous. His newly regrown fingers fist around my lightly furred horns to pull me that much closer. I love it when he does that, so forceful and belligerent in his pleasure he makes me want to sigh. I cup his muscled asscheeks in my hands and trace his hole with a claw.

“Please!” he shouts, wiggling his boy pussy and pushing his way back into my mouth to suck more of my blood into his mouth before I can offer.

“You want me inside you, baby?” I whisper into his mind. Sam stills in my arms, seized up with unknowable emotion because his mind is a jumbled mess. It takes a while for him to know, to understand, and in that moment Sam’s despair is sweetly overwhelming. His hate for me is as pure as it is impotent and from where I stand, it feels a lot like love. He wants to rip me apart for what I’ve done to him and yet he is absolutely lost without me. A beat…another…. He nods and places a tender kiss to my lips. _Please don’t take it away._ My voice. He’s missed it something terrible.

“Miss me?”

Another nod. He gives me another sweet peck that smolders into a few tentative licks. _Don’t leave me alone,_ he thinks at me, and I figure I better stop Sam before my heart can turn into liquid butter. “Are you ready to give it up, Sammy?” I press my claw slowly into his freshly healed hole, careful not to cut him, offering just a hint of the pleasure waiting to be let inside.

Sam is a bit more skittish now that some of his mental capacity has been returned. “Please,” he whimper-sobs against my ear. His tight asshole bears down on my fingertip in supplication, a consolation prize for his steadfast defiance. I can’t help but be continuously impressed by his bullishness. He knows he’s going to say yes eventually. He knows I know. But Sam has always preferred to be taken kicking and screaming—and that’s okay—because I love to make my bitch kick and scream.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” I rumble, “You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.” My voice is as gentle as a bee landing on a summer flower, but Sam trembles with fear. His thoughts are beginning to scatter as he seeks somewhere to hide away in his mind. “No no no, baby. Not today. Today you stay right here with me. Okay?” Sam clings to me like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood, but he nods, and I can’t help myself against rewarding him with a gentle nudge of my fingertip. He forces himself to relax and take it, allows himself to enjoy my brand of kindness. I’m never going to let Sam go.

Dean isn’t far from us, still crying out though he’s fallen into exhausted slumber.

_Sam? Sammy…Sam?_

I allow for Dean’s own mind to set the scene and he brings us to the motel in Pontiac, Illinois. Dean’s just been freed from hell and the only thought on his mind has been…well…one guess. Apparently, he has this dream a lot. It’s one of his favorites. That moment he sets eyes on Sam, that memory, is what’s holding Dean together. It reminds him of how he survived Hell and found Sam. It reinforces his most core belief that sooner or later he will _always_ find Sam, put him back together, and keep on keeping on. It’s disgustingly sweet.

Sam is beyond shocked when he hears the knock at the door. He seizes around my suddenly human fingers. “What’s that?” He says aloud. The sound of his own voice is jarring to him, the ability to see, to exist in a room with walls. His mind almost can’t take it, starts to fall apart before I grab ahold of his fragmented consciousness and knit him crookedly together. By degrees he becomes aware of himself, aware of me in his mind, of my fingers gently fucking in and out of him and why he’s allowing it. “Why are we here?” He spits out angrily. The old Sam always resorts to anger when he’s afraid. I raise an eyebrow at him and it’s all it takes to make him contrite. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His kaleidoscope eyes film over with unshed tears. I have to wonder if my father didn’t place a galaxy in Sam’s eyes. “Thank you for taking me out of the dark.” He resolutely rests his head on my shoulder and relaxes around my penetrating fingers. “And for not being a fucking goat.” That gets a healthy laugh out of me. Nick is the human Sam recognizes as the devil.

 “Aren’t you curious about who’s at the door?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

Sam is starting to loosen up and I take the opportunity to sink in a little deeper, so gentle it takes real effort on my part. He has two of my fingers up to the second knuckle in him now. I can manifest lube if I want, or give Sam the ability to get wet for me (something to consider for a later time), but right now I prefer the perfected skill of opening him up slow, dry, and shockingly painless. Sam is a wreck trying to figure out why I’m being gentle with him. He wishes I’d get on with it already, that I’d shove into him and make him bleed and scream. It’s easier for him to withstand torture than it is the humiliation of his absolute and willing submission. My baby is deeply broken. “Come on, Sammy. Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Sam!” Dean’s voice booms through the door as he pounds hard on the cheap wood.

Sam tries to burst from my arms all at once. He shoves at my shoulders and kicks at the headboard behind me with his feet; tries to wiggle his ass off my fingers, but I hold him firm. Damn! That is the most Sam has ever struggled against me in a very, very, long time. “Stop it!” he yells. He has the audacity to try and choke me with his forearm. “Stop it now!”

I can’t stop laughing. I have never tortured Sam with visions of Dean. It would have been too easy to break him. It’s the same reason I’ve never slipped into the visage of Daddy Winchester. I’ll get to it all eventually, but I have literally forever so…patience. “Sam. That’s not me.” I still can’t stop laughing. Sam is pissed!

“Sam, open up, it’s me!” Dean bellows.

“I fucking _hate YOU!_ ” Sam roars into my face just before he bursts into a heap of snotty tears. Oh, and he means it! He wants to claw me open with his own fingernails, break open my chest, and eat my beating heart. It’s…pretty vivid. And makes me sigh contentedly; Sam is very romantic. I stroke up and down his back with one hand until he curls into me, and then resume with my fingers. Sam sobs and curls deeper.

Dean doesn’t stop pounding on the door or yelling for Sam, but the broken man in my arms won’t dare let himself hope. Sam is certain the torture has begun, that I’m going to let him believe Dean is here to save him, maybe even actually allow Dean to save him, and that I’ll wash it all away like a dream afterward. “That’s a little child’s play, Sam. Didn’t I promise I’d never lie to you?” I wait for Sam to nod before I continue. “And have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“Pleeeeease,” Sam begs. “Not Dean.” Fucking. Delicious. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to fuck Sam more than I do right now. Even my fingers are greedy, pushing deeper and faster, and just a bit too soon. Sam fucks back anyway, impaling himself more roughly than I want. “I’ll do anything,” he whispers against my shoulder.

I chuckle into Sam’s hair. “Such a whore, Sammy, no wonder Dean wants you all to himself.” Another wave of hatred emanates from Sam, but he keeps his mind on autopilot. _Do what he wants. You can take it. It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re okay._ “You’re okay, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you right now. I promise.” It’s not a lie. I don’t lie even if I’m supposed to be the prince of them—you ever ask yourself who the king is?

“Dean is at the door, Sam.” His heartbeat is erratic, but he stays pliant on my lap. I sigh. “Fine. Don’t believe me.” Remember when I said torturing Sam is a mercy? This is exactly my point. But, Sam has been exceptionally well behaved, minus his pathetic outburst, and I truthfully rather enjoyed it, so I decide to give in and let my plans manifest in Sam’s thoughts.

Sam throws up spit and stomach acid before he blacks out.

I finish opening him up while he’s out, got all four fingers buried in him while he lies across my lap. He deserves a little break before we get started. I’m not a complete monster. When Sam comes into consciousness, he’s going to do exactly as I’ve instructed him.

Sam’s consciousness slowly returns. His voice is small and meek when he speaks. “Is it really him?”

I smile. “This wouldn’t be half as fun if it weren’t.” I wipe an errant tear from beneath Sam’s eye and lick it off my finger. “Are you going to be my good boy?” I soothe him when he inevitably trembles.

“Sam!” Dean yells on the other side of the door. He’s been out there for hours, but it’s only a few seconds in dreamscape. And there is no such thing as time so it doesn’t really matter anyway.

“Deeeeean,” Sam cries. Holy fuck! He’s glowing. His soul is finally glowing; a tiny, but powerful ember, strong enough to shake the room and disturb the construct of Dean’s memory, just for a blink. I doubt he’s aware of it. It’s curious. Sam knows I’m about to torture Dean. He knows how I’m going to do it. Yet, Sam’s soul is sparking to life. I have alarming suspicions about why this is.

I shove him toward the door. “Open it, Sam. Open the door.”

Sam stumbles on wobbly, but eager legs and jerks the door open. There he is. There’s Dean in all his perfectly groomed, flannel glory; not bad for having crawled out of his own grave the day before. “Heya, Sammy,” he says on a sigh of relief. Sam wastes no time throwing his naked body at his brother, just wraps himself around Dean and falls apart. “Whoa there, tiger. I know—I look fantastic.” Dean’s thoughts are sad and funny, kinda like his life. He’s overwhelmed at having escaped hell, overjoyed at having Sam in his arms…but also a little grossed out at having Sam’s naked and uh— _yep, definitely hard_ —body plastered to him.

“Heya… _Dean,_ ” I say from over on the bed. I’m just as naked as Sam, dick just as hard. Dean’s eyes meet mine over Sam’s bulky, trembling shoulder and I take immense pleasure in watching horror dawn across Dean’s features. His face crumbles and his hold on Sam makes the younger brother whimper.

“Alistair.” He whispers.

“Gotcha someone new to play with. You liiiiiike?” Dean clutches Sam to him like a child with a bag of candy on the playground. “Bet you thought you got away from me, didn’t you? Bet you thought your baby brother was sssssafe, thanksss to your, erm…sssacrifice.”

“Please,” he begs. “I can’t.” He can’t get back on the rack. He can’t take any more torture. He’ll tear apart any other soul, any soul I put in front of him, even if— _God—_ even if the soul belongs to a child who unwittingly made a deal with a crossroads demon. He barely got through that one, resisted for a decade, but he’d do it again. He should have known he’d never escape. He should have known they’d find a way to rope Sam into his mess. “Any soul but this one. _Any fucking soul!”_

I stroke my cock. Alistair likes a hung meatsuit. This one belongs to a salt-and-pepper haired marine general who looked a lot like Daddy Winchester. Dean spent a lot of time with Alistair in this meatsuit. “Dean,” I admonish him with a single saccharine word. “You’re not going to be a ssstubborn boy _now,_ are you? You…” I clear my throat. Alistair’s affected speech pattern is perfectly annoying. “ _Know_ how much I hate to punish you.”

Dean pulls Sam toward the door but—shocker—it’s gone. I tut at him and wave my index finger. _No, no no._ “Oh, Dean. You are— _sigh—_ delightfully naughty.” Sam is completely silent, still wrapped around Dean, bracing them both against their collective fear. Sam won’t break my illusion by telling Dean the truth. He’s going to let it all play out, let Dean break down and pick up the knife. He’s going to try and be strong—for Dean’s sake—while his big brother cuts open his chest, cracks open his ribcage, and takes a bite from his beating heart. Sounds familiar, don’t it! Sammy hates himself for giving me the idea. Anyway, he’s going to let it all happen, because if he’s very good and does everything I ask, I’ve promised to let him spend time with Dean, whole.

“You fucking sick son of a bitch!” Dean growls. “I’m going to _end_ you.” He stays rooted to the spot though, still hanging on to Sam, clutching at him just as desperately as the younger man clings to him. There are already tears popping from his emerald eyes and racing down his beautifully freckled cheeks. Dad really outdid himself with these two. I almost get it. But not really.               

“Mmmm, come here, Sssammy. Come show big brother what you’ve learned.” My chest inflates with pride as Sam forcibly pushes Dean away before making his way toward me. There’s a scuffle as Dean attempts to keep Sam pressed against his own body, but Sam knows what’s at stake and doesn’t relent until he’s crawled onto the bed. “Face Dean,” I order. Sam nods and impales himself cleanly on my cock. My brave little monkey won’t shed a tear; doesn’t want Dean to see.  “Ffffuck, Sammmy! You’re ssstill so _tight_.” I’m not physically hurting Sam and the rape is all the more delicious for it. “Ride it hard for Daddy, baby. Let big brother sssee how you come on my just my cock.” Sam sits up on his knees and slams his ass down on me. I grip his hips and help keep the pace, aiming right for his prostate.

“Sam!” Dean lunges onto the bed and yanks on Sam’s shoulders to pry him off me. “Stop, Sam. Please!” Dean has been raped by Alistair and his demon cohorts on a _very_ regular basis. He knows everything Sam is feeling. He knows the pleasure is a debilitating torture that twists the soul. He knows that if Sam is this pliant, it’s been happening for a long time. He’s right about all of it, of course.

“Deeean,” Sam mewls, just starting to break with the emotion he feels welling up in his chest. “I’m s-s-sorry. I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry.” He punches Dean across the face hard enough to send him flying backward. “Fuck me harder,” he demands. “Make me come.” _Please get it over with. Please hurry._

I laugh uproariously. “Oh yesss, Sssam. You make me sssoo happy. I thought Dean was Daddy’s bessst little girl, but it’s you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!” Dean gathers himself for a second attack only to find himself pinned to the wall.

“Yes,” Sam affirms. He’s more like himself than he’s been in a long time. _Please don’t hurt him. I’ll find a way to kill you._ A part of him still believes Dean isn’t actually here, that it’s another method of torture, but a larger part of him _has_ to believe it’s Dean, _has_ to have hope. It’s the only thing he has and he’ll pay any price to keep his hope alive.

Dean is a wreck. He’s shaking with rage and slathered in self-loathing for not being able to stop this, for the way Sam just gives his body over without a fight. “Please. Stop! Let him go.” Watching him start to hyperventilate while he’s pinned like a bug is a powerful aphrodisiac.

“It ssstops when I come, or you _pick up the knife.”_ I cast my eyes to the generic nightstand where a single scalpel is waiting. Sharp as the devil. “Wanna bet I can hold out longer than your precious Sammy?” Sam almost sobs but keeps it in check. He knows I can hold out for as long as I want. He’s played this game before, played it until my lap is drenched in his blood and every _moment_ of consciousness is an agony that radiates from his shredded asshole. He knows I won’t stop, even then. This is of course, why I took so long to prep him.

“Do it, Dean. Do what he says. Make it stop,” Sam pleads.

Dean doesn’t bother with keeping his emotions in check. “No, Sam. No. _I can’t._ Please don’t ask that of me. _Don’t!_  I won’t do it.”

“Okay, Dean. It’s okay.” Sam’s efforts are fervent. His muscled body gleams with sweat as his powerful thighs propel him up and down hard enough to sting against my pelvis. _Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack._ Sam’s rhythm doesn’t falter. He really is relentless in his dedication to Dean. I don’t know why that makes me angry but it does.

“Tell Dean what I did to you, Sam. Tell him everything you can remember.” I whisper into his mind: _I’ll know if you leave anything out._

Sam tightens around my dick. _Do I have to?_ He already knows the answer. “He…” Sam growls and bounces on me harder, nothing but sweat, determination, and my endless prep to ease the way. “He—he rapes me. All the time.”

“Sam,” Dean whispers.

“Am I a man when I rape you, Sam?” I have to shut my eyes against the pleasure of all their combined misery when Sam makes mention of my goat-like visage. He mentions being torn open around my knot, describes being pumped full of my seed until his belly swells. He hates it in his mouth the most, but aside from his own body parts, it’s the only thing he’s ever given to eat.

Dean is coming apart spectacularly. He’s beyond bravado. Alistair already broke him once, but this time…he won’t come back from this time. “Sam,” he wails. “Sam! Sam!”

“He makes me drink his blood,” Sam stammers.

I squeeze his hips in warning but not enough to hurt. “Rrrreally? Do I _make you_ , Sammy?”

Sam starts to sob then because even if Dean can’t remember Ruby right now, Sam does. He betrayed Dean. He unleashed the devil and started the apocalypse. Dean is here because of Sam. The knowledge is more than he can bear. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he pleads. “It’s all my fault. He _lets_ me drink his blood, Dean. Sometimes. I can’t help it. It heals me and…and…” His tears are really rolling now. “And I f-f-feel…I feel so loved, Dean. He’s the only one who loves me.”

The spell holding Dean is only meant to keep him immobile if he means to attack. After hearing Sam’s confession Dean drops to the floor. His pain is layered and decadent. He wails into the thin carpet. “ _I love you, Sam! Me!”_

Sam’s soul is starting to glow again; fits, sputters, and sparks of light flicker inside him. “I couldn’t find you, Dean. I missed you so much. He…he said he’d bring me to you. This was the only way!”

Dean crawls toward the bed like a man about to be crucified. “Sam,” he sobs. “I’m not worth it.” He stops next to the bed, in front of the nightstand. His entire body is shaking, but especially his hand as it bypasses Sam’s flesh entirely and lands tentatively on my chest. Sam’s company and submission are more than I could have hoped for in The Cage, but having Dean too! It’s almost worth postponing the apocalypse. He stares deep into my amused eyes. “What can I do? Please take me instead. I’m begging you.”

The brothers bicker about who I’m supposed to torture. All the while, Sam never stops riding my cock. It’s cute, but more than a little tedious as well. “Dean,” I say and pick up his trembling hand. “Pick up the knife or I’ll have Sam do it.” When Dean offers me a hopeful look from beneath tear clumped lashes, I clarify my meaning. “Toooo himmmssself,” I sing-song. “He’s done it before, you know. Haven’t you, Sammmy?”

“Please, Dean,” Sam babbles at his brother. “Do it fast. Do it fast and it won’t be so bad! Do it and after…after….” Sam is treading dangerous ground and he knows it. “I don’t want him in me anymore, Dean. Please help me.”

Dean is quiet for a long time as he weighs his options. It’s either cut Sam himself or watch as Sam hacks away at himself. “Will you fix him?” Dean warbles. “After?”

“I always do,” I say. I’m going to come as soon as Dean starts cutting. I know it.

Dean nods and picks up the scalpel. His chest heaves forcefully with every manufactured breath he pulls into his non-existent lungs. He can barely comprehend what he’s doing as his mind scatters in every direction. Only one thing is clear to him: He has to do this, _for Sam._

“I love you, Sam,” he whispers as he places the blade to Sam’s quivering flesh.

“I love you too, Dean,” says Sam and lunges for Dean’s lips with his own. I'm coming inside Sam, completely euphoric when—to my utter amazement—the entire room explodes in a near atomic blast of light that ripples throughout every atom of my being.

_Love._

_Love is the key._

_TBC…_


End file.
